The gate fortress looked ominous at a glance.
Black soot stained the tall stone walls here and there, and the once-sturdy main gate sagged to one side, creaking pitifully.
Above all, there were the letters of the curse.
Countless characters drawn in a sticky red liquid densely covered the entire stone wall.
Eerily enough, the characters moved about as though they possessed lives of their own. At times they spread broadly like ink dispersing through water, only to suddenly gather into a single line and slither through the cracks in the stone like a snake.
Anyone could tell that it was some wicked deed committed by demonkind.
“Such… ominous……!”
Sir Durand swallowed a groan and stepped backward.
Even for a man who had witnessed every manner of atrocity committed by demon worshippers, the sight before him was bizarre beyond measure.
“It seems the storyteller with a thousand voices has now acquired the ability to manipulate Imaginary constructs through written characters as well as voices.”
Even the Holy Emperor looked unusually grave.
He appeared to have already concluded outright that the [Puppeteer] Leandro had spoken of and Richelieu were the same person.
The evidence was thin, but Leandro thought the same.
The sight was grotesque beyond description, yet oddly enough, he could not sense any particular trace of a demon from those letters written in blood.
That would mean all of this was…